


Dear Companions

by waitingtobelit



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingtobelit/pseuds/waitingtobelit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of sometimes connected drabbles relating to the characters of Les Miserables and their Pokemon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overly Crowded Chairs at Overly Burdened Tables

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I got this idea from that amazing piece of fanart of Combeferre and Alakazam on Tumblr. I basically spent my morning dwelling too much on the idea of Marius and a Dratini and thus, this happened. I am hoping to continue this with as many characters as I can because I apparently have a lot of feelings about Pokemon and Les Mis.
> 
> This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written and I regret nothing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with either Les Miserables or Pokemon. This was written for purely recreational purposes only.

Marius sits at his desk, shoulders and neck tense as he hunches over several volumes of German poetry and his own blank notebook, desperately attempting not to dwell on his impending exam, or the deadline for his translations. Both, as it turns out, happen to share the same date of tomorrow, his test scheduled for the late morning and his work due shortly thereafter. He writes with one hand trembling against the page as the other clenches in his messy, auburn hair, pulling it taut against his scalp.

He rocks slightly in the secondhand chair he stole out of a dumpster with a bit of one leg missing. (Courfeyrac constantly threatens to buy him a new one daily but Marius refuses to hear of it. In his typical habit of becoming ridiculously, overly attached to everything, Marius somehow fell in love with that damn chair. “As long as I don’t have to compete with it for your affections,” Courfeyrac eventually always concedes with a sigh and a spark of amusement in his eyes crinkled like fairy wings.)

He mutters to himself with all the frenzied passion of a man obsessed, constantly crossing out words and underlining phrases even as he tries to settle his own frantic thoughts that flutter about in his head like a swarm of anxious Butterfrees. He chews on his ‘rosebud lips’, Courfeyrac fondly calls them, while he tries to balance equations with metaphors as he works.

Eventually, he bites down so hard on his bottom lip that he draws blood. He curses under his breath as he lets his head fall to the desk with a weary groan.

A gentle nudging at his stomach forces him to open his eyes. Georges, his Dratini, looks up at him with a knowing tilt of the head and the warmth of concern in his large, black eyes. Marius can’t help but make a shaky attempt of a smile in return. Georges nudges him again, with more force. Marius brings down a hand to stroke his head. Georges makes a happy noise in response, though still isn’t entirely satisfied as he wiggles onto Marius’ lap, nudging him all the more.

“Georges.” Marius groans as the Dratini moves to rest his head on Marius’ shoulder. “I’m trying to work _oh shit_.”

His beloved chair, in that moment, decides to at last give out from underneath him. Marius flails as Georges wraps himself around Marius in fright; they fall to the ground an utter mess of limbs and Marius struggling to breathe.

Marius stares as Georges eventually releases his hold. The Dratini barely meets his gaze, body slumped slightly with guilt. Marius pulls Georges to him even as pain spikes throughout his lower back.

“Hey, it’s okay. That chair was old and almost useless anyway.” Marius grins. Georges blinks before breaking out into a grin of his own, nuzzling Marius with a happy cry.

Georges’ nose brushes against a particularly ticklish spot on Marius’ neck and then Marius loses it entirely, breaking out into almost hysterical laughter as he curls in on himself, taking Georges with him. Georges, unrelenting, doesn’t stop nuzzling even as Marius rolls around with him on the floor like a hapless child.

This is how Courfeyrac, returning from a walk with his Growlithe, Byron, finds them almost twenty minutes later. Courfeyrac, bearing a grin of his own, makes his way over to the pair of them as Byron, ever the opportunist, bounds away to investigate the cookies abandoned on the counter.

“Does this mean I can throw out that wretched chair at last?” He kneels down to press a kiss onto Marius’ forehead.

“Maybe.” Marius wheezes out in between giggles, cheeks flushing at Courfeyrac’s kiss.

“Only maybe? Hmm.” Courfeyrac’s grin turns impish as he leans down, kissing Marius’ forehead once more before joining the tickle fray unfurling beneath him. Marius, shaking with laughter, pulls on Courfeyrac’s shirt, dragging him into it just as Byron, now stuffed with cookies, leaps onto Courfeyrac’s back.

A tangle of fur, scales, limbs, and giggles, they pass the rest of the afternoon in utter chaos.


	2. Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eponine regrets encouraging Cosette's more adventurous habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt the need for Eponine/Cosette on horseback.

“Cosette! Make it slow down!” 

Eponine squeals as her grip tightens around the blonde girl’s waist, her nose pressed into the crease between her shoulders as the world rushes past them in a blur. The April afternoon is cool around them; the sinister clouds above them and the thick, imminent fragrance in the air promise rain as the sound of hooves beating against the ground echo in her mind like drums. Cosette insists on pressing onwards, regardless. Eponine, ever indulgent to the girl’s latest whims, follows suit as she clings for dear life. 

 Still, she keeps her eyes shut tight, as though they were welded together.  

She sometimes thinks about dying young, but never quite like this, on top of a flaming unicorn galloping deeper into the woods. She shivers as the embers graze her skin but do not burn her. 

“Cosette!” 

Cosette only laughs in response, some of her loose hair flying back against Eponine’s face. Eponine spits out a strand that finds its way into her mouth. But of course Cosette promised her that she would be safe, Cosette who walks barefoot on smoldering pavement and who dives off cliffs into the ocean for the hell of it. Eponine, for all her meandering through the underbelly at night, wonders why she still listens to Cosette. 

“Cosette, please! It’s too fast!” 

“Rapidash is not an ‘it,’ you know.” Cosette admonishes her lightly, and Eponine can see the glow of her teasing smile from behind her closed eyes. “She does have a name.” 

They finally slow from a gallop to a trot, and Eponine at last opens her eyes as she deeply exhales. 

“I’m sorry Fantine.” She grumbles while petting the creature’s pale flank not dancing with flame. Fantine neighs in response, and Cosette turns to face Eponine just as she covers her hand with her own.  

“She accepts.” She informs her trembling companion, squeezing her hand in response even as her teasing smile has yet to cease. 

“I still don’t understand how we’re both not on fire right now.” Eponine can’t help herself from mumbling after an awkward few moments of silence. She fears spending too long losing herself in Cosette’s gaze. 

“Magic.” Cosette says, leaning in close as her grin widens. “Though, if you’re looking to be set on fire, I may be able to help with that.” 

Eponine barely has the chance to flush before Cosette leans in and tugs with her lips so that Eponine all but falls into her. She kisses Eponine as though she were savoring wine, gradually, yet with greedy determination. Eponine almost forgets Fantine beneath them as she suddenly recalls why, exactly, she indulges Cosette’s taste for adventure so often. 


	3. Fluffy Pink Riot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bahorel finds help in an unusual place during one of his usual barfights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Bahorel would totally have a Pokemon that people underestimate at first glance, especially now that said Pokemon can beat up Dragon types. Also I just really like imagining Jigglypuff and Bahorel inciting riots together.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with either Les Mis or Pokemon.

Bahorel didn’t plan on stumbling back into his apartment, nose bleeding through his right fist, bruises painted all across his face, with a pink ball of fluff perched on his aching back, but as he wakes up to a Jigglypuff curled on his chest, last night reassembles itself in the pale, morning light.

He remembers the blond man quoting bible verses, clutching the silver cross around his chest as he all but shoved himself into Bahorel’s face. He recalls his rather pointed nose curled upwards in a sneer as Bahorel spat out his own replies. The quaint bar blurred into a carousel of vague faces as their argument reached its crescendo, when the blond man remarked upon the state of Bahorel’s soul in conjunction with the “lowlife cretin destined for brimstone and hellfire” he chose to call companions.

Bahorel threw the first punch; the blond man staggered before lunging into his ribs. They rolled around on the floor like tumbleweed as glass shattered around them and the other patrons began to shout.

Even with scarlet gushing from his nose, the other man found means to insult Bahorel’s friends, his mother, and even his laughing mistress. Bahorel found strength through the anger surging through him, so much so that he wound up laughing in between punches, kicks, and the pair of women who tossed both of them through the backdoors.

He doesn’t recall much of their fight beyond the barroom, remembering only a sudden blur of quick movements before his opponent collapsed in a heap on the ground. Said source leaped onto his shoulders, tugging on his hair as sirens began to sound in the distance.

“Fuck.” He’d muttered.

“Puff.” The strange, pink thing had seemed to agree as Bahorel barreled towards an old, beloved alley.

“Puff?” Jigglypuff asks him now, suddenly right in his face. He laughs and ruffles the fur on the top of his new friend’s head.

“You put up one hell of a fight, little guy!” He grins even as Jigglypuff huffs up and slaps in the face.

“Ow! I’m sorry, little miss?” He guesses, wincing as he rubs a hand across his very sore cheek.

Jigglypuff nods and throws her arms around his neck as best she can, content. Bahorel knows, in that moment, he’s kind of sold his soul to this fluffy, pink creature as they both fall back to sleep beneath the ragged sunlight.


End file.
